


Opiate Halluciantions

by Nihonkikuasa211



Category: Code Black (TV)
Genre: Developing Angus Leighton/Mario Savetti, Drug Use, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Family History, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Major Character Injury, Medical Trauma, Multi, Original Character(s), Sexual Assault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-04
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2018-08-24 05:32:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8359156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nihonkikuasa211/pseuds/Nihonkikuasa211
Summary: Season 2 AU. Mario is attacked by a person from his past, and is left fighting for his life. Angus, reeling from his brother's Mike's death, has to piece the fragments of Mario's past together in order to understand of what exactly happened, and not to lose his license as skeletons of their past come from the shadows and into the harsh light.I am sorry. I was hoping to finish this story because there was another story that I had abandoned, but I can no longer write this story any more. Thank you so very much for anyone that has viewed, read, bookmarked, and written all those kind messages to me in the eight months since I had written this story. I have not had interest in Code Black for a long time, and I am sorry for not being able to finish this story that I once was so excited about. If anyone would like to adopt this story please do. If not, then enjoy the five chapters that I had the pleasure of writing. Thank you very much.





	1. Prologue

                 0800 Hours

 

                 There was the sound of silence.

                  Dr. Mario Savetti walked quietly in garage.

                  It was too quiet.

                  Everything had been too quiet since Mike had died.

                  Mario could still see the utter broken look of Angus' face.

                  How many days had passed?

                  How many hours?

                  He didn't know.

                  It seemed that he didn't understand anything anymore.

* * *

 

 

                _Every breath you take_

 

               What was that sound?

               Mario had been walking to his car, hoping to find something that would at least light a smile on Angus' face.

              He loved Angus' smile. It was only know that Angus was no longer smiling that Mario realized how much he loved seeing those lips lift up into a smile.

              Mario had called Malaya and Angus nerds because they were obsessed with the new resident's former career. He didn't have much to do with American popular culture. Now, he wished that he could call Angus to ask him what the song was that was playing in the garage. He would know...but Angus wasn't speaking to anyone.

             Not anymore.

 

             _Every move you make_

             "What the hell?" Mario muttered. Where was this stupid music coming from? He had no idea where, but the sound - whatever it was - was loud, making the words echo in his eardrums.

 

             _Every bond you break_

Mario shook his head, intent to find the gift he had meant to give to Angus before...well, before. Mario sighed, taking a deep breath as he did he best to block out the noise.

          

_Every step you take_

 

Suddenly the sound seemed to close. Too loud. Mario shuddered, gooseflesh appearing on his arms as the sound came closer and closer...

           Until...

  

          _I'll be watching you._

Close to his ear.

         Mario's eyes widened. He opened his mouth, the name whispered on his lips when -

 

* * *

 

 

        For long months after, Mario could only remember the sound of song blasting through his mind.

 


	2. Chapter 1

                                                                               _Chapter 1_               

 

_24 hours earlier…_

             

              Mario Savetti jerked up to the sound of his name. Noa Kean, a new first year resident, was calling him and gesturing her hands towards the ambulance heading towards the ER at Angels.

              “Are you okay?” Mario could see that the first year was biting her lip, words half-formed in her mouth but not saying them as the male resident sighed inwardly and wondered about the stupidity of those kind of questions. He had yet to see any true emotion on Angus’ face since the day of Mike’s death, except for grief and despair. Despite the prognosis of Mike being able to breathe on his own, Angus’ older brother had simply stopped breathing. Mario remembered of how he had been forced to hold Angus to him as the other resident tried to pull away from him, as the tell-tale sign of cardiac arrest echoed in the too-small room. Dr. Rorish and Dr. Hudson had done their best to revive Mike, but the sign of failure was clear when Mario could see tears forming in Dr. Hudson’s eyes as he asked them if there were any objections.

              _“Time of death.”_ There was a crack in the British surgeon’s voice, and a shudder rippled through his body. _“1:30…a.m.”_

Perhaps it was because Angus seemed so broken that Mario was constantly wondering about him. Everyone had grieved in their own way: Malaya had laid flowers on Mike’s grave every morning. Mario only knew this because Angus had mentioned that Malaya had offered him time and time again to go to his brother’s grave after the funeral. The answer was always no. Christa had cried for days after Mike’s death. It was he who had encouraged her to talk to Dr. Hudson again after they broke up. The two, through their connection with Dr. Hudson once the resident and attending realized they loved each other and had gotten back together, had become close, laughing and talking with each other as if they had been friends for years. Dr. Hudson, Dr. Rorish, and Jesse had been the most affected by Mike’s death; they were the ones who knew him the longest, from the time of his first year of residency. Mike, per the stories that Neal was slowly telling to Christa, had allowed the then-unconfident resident he had been to grow and to find a home. Dr. Rorish didn’t say anything, but you could see the haunted look in her eyes. But…Neal had Christa, and Dr. Rorish had Jesse. They seemed to be doing as fine as they could.

              But Mario couldn’t reach Angus.

              And it hurt more than he thought it would.

              “I’m fine,” Mario said tightly without looking at Noa. He knew he was lying; and he knew that even without looking at him, she could tell he was lying too. Neither of them chose to spoke as the ambulance came closer, and Mario inwardly prayed – although he was pretty sure he would be going to doctor’s hell for thinking this – that it wouldn’t be an easy case.

              He needed a distraction from his thoughts, especially containing to Angus.

              The EMTs surrounded the doctors as the gurney came into view.

              “Late twenties male,” the female said as Mario and Noa appeared on the left and right side of the patient. “A scalp lac and possible concussion.”

              _Why only possible concussion?_ Mario thought inwardly as he stared at the patient. His dark hair, almost too dark to be considered dark brown, lengthened to his shoulders. His skin was pale, almost as if he had spent too much time inside, and – Mario’s thoughts stopped there.

              He recognized that face. The facial structure, the long cheekbones, the… bags under his eyes. Cold water poured down Mario’s back as he realized who was in the gurney.

              _Fuck. Oh, fuck._

              “Mario,” Noa uttered under her breath, slightly unnerved by the panic growing in the older resident’s eyes, “what’s –”

              The patient suddenly opened his eyes and gave Mario a lazy smile.

              “Hey Mari.” 

* * *

 

              Mario slammed down the red binder and ignored the looks both Noa and Christa were giving him. _Now…count to ten._ He did he best to not look at the figure now lying in the hospital bed, the strip of bandage the only evidence of the scalp lac that they had done. _Wonder how that is going to work out,_ he thought sarcastically.

              “Your results will be back soon,” Mario said as he made the pointed note to not look at the patient. “So –”

              “I gave you my number.” As captivating as always, that voice was. Mario could see Christa staring at the patient as Noa attempted to hide her disgust at the silky tone he used. Mario continued to ignore him, despite the pain it stirred in his chest. “You don’t call. You don’t write.”

              “You are currently high on heroin,” Mario snapped. This time he took a risk to stare at the patient. Dark tousles of hair, once straight, now curled at the ends. He had lost weight, as the clothes hung off of his hips. Dark circles pronounced under his eyes. But the palpations were still there. Mario didn’t have to know him that Oberon Damanto was high. “You don’t have the capacity to even think, much less make accusations.”

              “Well, you would know, wouldn’t you?”

              Mario decided to not risk seeing the shock and judgment in his colleagues’ eyes. Only Angus knew of his former addiction, and even with that, he didn’t know everything. The evidence was right in front of him.

              It seemed that Oberon Damanto hadn’t changed from the seven years that they had last seen each other. He continued to act as if he hadn’t heard Mario’s voice, speaking in a slightly sweet tone.

              “I thought you had forgotten me.” Mario took a breath and forced himself to look at the figure lying in front of him. Suddenly, a smile appeared across Oberon Damanto’s face. “I bet you didn’t think I would surprise you, coming all the way from New York just to see you.”

              At the corner of his eye, Mario could see a flash of understanding across Christa’s face. Perhaps she had dealt with something like this before…having a creepy person in your life not understanding that you wanted them out of our life.

              “Mr. Damanto –” Christa tried.

              “Shut up!” Both females flinched as unpredictable anger suddenly filled Oberon’s eyes. Mario stared at him, his face made out of stone as the smile suddenly appeared again. “I was talking to Mario,” he stated more quietly. “I was so sad, Mario. Why didn’t you help me?”

              “Going to prison for drug possession and drug dealing is your problem, not mine,” Mario said in a monotone. The patient across from him appeared to notice the distance Mario was giving him, and narrowed his eyes.

              “For seven years. Seven. Years.” Mario inwardly tried to not notice of how Oberon Damanto hung his head, grasping his hands together. “We last _saw_ each other after…well, after the incident, shall we say.” Anger started to increase in his words, making his muscles clench. Those hazel eyes darkened as a snarl tore at his mouth. “Come on, Mari! After everything we’ve been through!”

              “Counting the last time I saw you, high out of your mind and almost me gutted, I don’t consider what happened as a _relationship_.” Mario paused to glare at Oberon, a small fraction of pleasure as he saw his face morph into rage. “And _don’t_ call me that!”

              Mario should have known Oberon would have said something to that.

              “You used to like it,” the dark-haired ex-con and drug addict told the second-year resident.

              “I’m done,” Mario said. He didn’t even realize that he was shouting until he saw Christa touch his arm when he moved toward Oberon. He clenched his fist, trying to gain some kind of control as he saw Oberon’s face. “I’m done with you,” Mario stated with his voice going lower so no one would hear except the detested drug addict, “and you can go die in a ditch somewhere, you fucking piece of shit.”

              “Hey.”

              Mario’s head snapped to find Angus standing behind him. The anger that had ravaged his heart evaporated, and a look of concern took over his features.

              “Are you sure you’re okay?”

              Angus looked terrible. He had a five o’clock shadow and his eyes looked slightly glazed. But he nodded, staring at Mario the entire time.

              “I have to go to work sometime,” he stated hoarsely. Mario looked at his friend carefully. He wasn’t trembling like he had been before, and his eyes were no longer bloodshot as they had been for the past few weeks. Mario had almost forgotten what Angus’ eyes had looked like, with his eyes no longer engulfed in grief and red as blood. A warm feeling of tenderness suddenly enveloped in his heart, surprising himself as a smile framed his face.

              “Good,” he stated.  The one word was whispered almost, gentle and surprising Mario by how much he meant it. For a couple of moments he continued to stare into Angus’ eyes. “I’m glad.”

* * *

 

               Mario was prepared for the aggravating questions as soon as he, Christa, and Noa left the patient to his own devices.

              “How do you know him?” Noa asked. She was not as cautious as Christa, aware of how Mario almost never talked about his past, and observed his agitated movements as Mario refused to look in the direction of Oberon Damanto.

              “Childhood friends,” Mario quipped shortly as he handed the red binder to Noa. “Most of my friends ended up dead or in prison,” he stated darkly with a glance in where Angus was last seen.

              “I wouldn’t recommend using the test, because I know he’s high,” Mario said to Christa. “Hopefully he’ll be released in the twenty-four hours.”

              A sigh escaped from him before he could stop it, and he was aware of Christa’s gentle heart working as always. “I’m fine, Christa.” The blond didn’t seem convinced, and the raised eyebrows from Noa didn’t help. “Ask Angus if he’s okay, because I’m certain he needs you more than me.”

              It was a long twenty-four hours. Eventually, Oberon was released. Without sending an enraged look in Mario’s direction that the resident could feel even when he looked away. A deep feeling of dread burned in Mario’s stomach at the sight of Dr. Campbell making a hard glance at the dark-haired patient with glaring eyes at one of the residents of the ER. _He acts as if he owns the place._ Ever since the OR and the ER had been combined due to the suits, the asshole wearing his white coat was insufferable. Mario had been stunned at the end of the shift when he saw rage across Christa’s face as she spoke to Malaya of how the arrogant surgeon treated her boyfriend. _Thank_ God _he didn’t find out about the Adderall._ If Campbell had gotten his hands dirty, he would have figured out that not only Heather had been stealing Adderall from him, but also had gotten Angus addicted to it. He would spare no mercy to either of them. For some weird reason, he seemed to have it out for Dr. Hudson, and Mike. It would be a perfect sincere to destroy another one of the people who didn’t think he was the best thing in the world. _And if he found out about my history…_ Mario clenched his fists, his breathing tight in his chest as he imagined the sneer across Campbell’s lips, almost like…Oberon used to have. _I would be dead._

“Mario.”

              It seemed that Mario was too caught up in his thoughts to realize that Dr. Hudson was behind him. The taller doctor appeared to be concerned, his face thoughtful as he gazed at the once-unsociable resident.

              “Hey.”

              The attending didn’t take the hint, and instead stated to Mario of what he had been dreading to hear.

              “I heard your voice when you shouted in the ER.” Unlike an authority figure, Dr. Hudson’s eyes did not gleam in any negative emotion – disgust, or disappointment, which Mario was still getting used to – as he stared at the second-year resident.

              “Are you alright?”

              Mario almost blinked in surprise. Dr. Hudson was still staring at him in concern, his dark brown eyes not moving as the younger doctor swallowed.

              “Uh…yeah.” Mario winced at his shitty answer. “I’m fine, Dr. Hudson.” _And now I fucked-up._ He usually knew how to get out of lies, or telling bullshit answers. That was really how he lived for a long time. But somehow, not lying and saving lives and doing good, seemed to be the oxygen he breathed now. “The guy…was just someone I knew.” the resident said instead, attempting to distract Dr. Hudson. His lips pursed in an involuntary motion even as he glanced at the staff room where Angus and the other residents were.

 _Angus…_ It appeared that Angus was doing fine. He was a bit dazed, but Mario managed to correct him if he made any mistakes. The new residents were looking at both of them curiously as they worked, especially when the gentle voice Mario had suddenly was using more and more often with Angus was within their range as he calmly reminded Angus how to treat a patient within a compromised airway. Mario could almost see the smile on Charlotte’s face as they worked, knowing immediately what she was thinking. It was as if she had met Ted, the first one who had asked if they were a thing.

              Before, Mario had been insulted. It reminded him too much of the past, of when he was just a poor junkie desperate for a fix intermingled with mindless sexual favors and simply words. Even when he thought – No, he stopped that thought before it could enter his heart. Mario didn’t truly know what his feelings were about his and Angus’ relationship. Perhaps they were friends. Perhaps not.

              He had been forever grateful though, when there was a small break for whatever crappy breakfast was called. Mario sighed in relief. Thankfully Dr. Rorish had yet to hear about his “conversation” he had with Oberon. Otherwise, he might not have a job to go back to. And that meant not going to see Angus every day. Dr. Hudson was kinder in that respect.

            The three second years had surrounded Angus, masking his face from view as they began to go to the staff room. But even without seeing his face, Mario knew that Angus wasn’t smiling. He wouldn’t eat. Before – so long-ago, it seemed like a dream – he had made comments about Angus’ weight and working out. Now as Mario watched Angus’ thinning waist line over the past weeks, a sick feeling pounded in his stomach. _I can’t believe I said that._ He gulped, suddenly wishing that Mike had punched him then. _I can’t believe what an asshole I was to you._

              “He’s a shitty asshole like I was.” Mario attempted to not let his feelings show, but he could feel his heart clench painfully. His mind clouded with the poisoned words and feelings he had given to Angus during the first few months, _How could I…?_ The feelings he had toward Angus seemed to be increasing with every time he was with the fellow resident. He felt…concerned and happy and sad all at the same time when he was beside his friend. And then there was then gentleness that came with that. “Sometimes,” he stated half to himself as his dark eyes bored into the glass, “I just look at myself and…”

              _And what?_ Mario’s hands almost shook, at the voice that whispered almost too tenderly in his ear. _And what do you feel when you look at yourself?_

 _That you_ still _are?_

“Anyway,” Mario stated with a heavy breath without a glance at Dr. Hudson, “I have somewhere I need to be.”

              Dr. Hudson kept his thoughts to himself, whatever they were. “Just be careful, Mario. Campbell might do something.”

              “Right,” Mario said as his stomach sank.

              _I’ll make it up to you, Angus._ Mario knew that if food wasn’t going to help Angus, maybe something else would. _I meant to give it to you on the funeral, but it seems like a good idea now._

            He was only aware of going out of the elevator and out into the garage. A sudden feeling of warmth filled Mario’s stomach and chest, almost causing him to lose his breath at the thought of Angus’ smile. _I think you’ll like it, Angus._

He didn’t know that a specific person was waiting for him the moment he had been discharged.


	3. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heed tags for heavy violence and sexual assault!

                                                                               _Chapter 2_

 

              Oberon Damanto didn’t understand the anger that was coursing through his veins. It burned, like a physical wound as he stared at the lone figure walking towards him.

              No, not him. Oberon had to tell himself as pain, one of which he hadn’t experienced before in the hell-hole of prison, tore through his entire body. The pain, burning and trailing through his limbs, was almost like the rage that was mounting inside of him as he continued to think.

              Mario. _His_ Mario. Seven years without a ring. Without a sight of his face. It had been…well, the world that he had lived in for the past seven years had not been fun. Although, now that Oberon looked closer at Mario, he realized what a treat he was in for. When Mario had been yelling and irrationally upset with _him_ , he hadn’t the chance to take a proper look at his old friend.

              Oberon inwardly laughed. Old friend was perhaps stretching it by a long-shot. He didn’t quite remember what he did that caused Mario to be so upset with him, but before…

              There was no Mario Savetti without Oberon Damanto.

              Their parents, their drug addiction – it had been shitty. They had first met when they were young, and nothing was really sacred in the shithole they survived through. But their…friendship, and eventually, what they had and still had, _was_.

              Oberon felt himself growing hard at the memory of Mario writhing beneath him, his beautiful gaps and cries for release as sweat rained down on their glistening skin. Rough, passionate swollen lips parted against his own, the only ecstasy they had during their haze of addiction and fucked-up lives. But Mario didn’t deal. It was “beneath him,” he said. That was beginning of the problem, but he had such a sweet little mouth.

              “You’ve never looked more beautiful, darling,” Oberon whispered. He watched Mario at the corner of his eye, aware of his lips moistening at the memory of the last sweet moment. It was true. Mario had gotten taller. He wasn’t thin-as-stick anymore, and that did _wonders_. Oberon especially loved his eyes. So dark, almost black. Capable of so much anger and love, and happiness that sung when they both shot up.

              “Now he’s a fucking prissy doctor and _clean_.” Oberon hissed. His hands shook at the memory of Mario being with that fat-fuck of an asshole, knowing before _his_ beloved of what he felt. Those glances, that voice, all used to belong to him. All his. Now it was _all_ gone. Oberon tried to control his shaking hands, tried to contain the pure rage and loss that surged through him at the thought of the cold and hard words his Mario had told him.

              _It’s not fair!_ Oberon thought as Mario continued to walk in the garage, heading towards his car. _Mario…my Mario, you belong with me, not with_ those _people who don’t know the true you! Didn’t you know how hard it was for me to not see you every single day?_ The anger became too much. Oberon found himself fingering a sharp knife he had pocketed from the asshole he had decked. Thankfully none of the doctors had noticed during his conversation with Mario. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. As soon as he got out, stunned to find Mario’s familiar face not there as he walked out of that place, Oberon had asked his associates where Mario had gone. They had mocked him, and told him that his little pet had thought himself better than them and moved to Los Angeles. _“He said he wanted to be a doctor,”_ Nicholas snickered, laughing at the sight of the blood draining from Oberon’s face. _“Well, I guess your little faggot is gone for good.”_ He didn’t notice the utter look of murderous rage on his former dealer’s face. _“Then again, I guess anyone would get the insane amount of drugs for a little play –”_ He never got the chance to finish his words.

              Oberon had managed to find Mario. He saw a photo of him at his graduation. Scowling as usual, but Oberon had always stated that his boyfriend was sexy as fuck when he was angry. Somewhere he had found Mario’s good-for-nothing grandmother, still on her high-horse with her own issues, telling him flatly that none of Mario’s friends were welcome here. The dark-haired man hadn’t been surprised that Mario’s grandmother hadn’t recognized him. She had never loved him. Not like him. The broad told him that her grandson was working as a resident in a hospital called Angels or something to do with God. Plainly, she didn’t care about Mario as much as he did.

              The nerve of his beloved. Oberon had provoked a fight just to get injured and get in a stupid ambulance just to _see_ him. But no. Mario… _had_ to reject every moment that they had just because he was a doctor now. But what broke Oberon was the fact of how Mario stared at that…fucking stealer! Looking at him like he was the center of his world, his voice gentle and kind, and standing close to him!

              “Oh, the things I want to do to you…” Oberon whispered. Rage filled every fiber of his being, caressing the knife in his hands slowly. He remembered of how Mario would look, after every high and when…he lied in his arms. Every part of him loved. The man holding the weapon remembered pick-pocking a phone while the stupid idiot was looking elsewhere before he went on the plane. There was a song on there. A song that called out to him, that tore his devastated heart into bloody ribbons. Oberon didn’t understand it before, but now as he watched Mario walking in the empty garage, he understood _every_ word.

              He pulled out the phone and pressed up the volume. The lyrics echoed in his mind as they tore through the device, but instead of calming him, Oberon became increasingly enraged.

              Mario was coming closer. He was hearing him, hearing the lyrics. Oberon licked his lips, rage and lust filling every limb as he imagined what he would do to Mario.

              His Mario.

              _Oh, Mari…_

              Mario had loved that nickname. He loved it. Especially…

              Oberon could almost feel Mario in his arms. He was careful not to swallow. Against his better judgement, he watched Mario’s back towards him. The song was loud.

              But nothing compared to his heart.

              Oberon was aware of Mario’s heat as he neared. Slowly, he lowered his lips to Mario’s ear.

              _“I’ll be watching you,”_ he whispered. It felt so good. To do this.

              Oberon almost wanted to hear his name caress Mario’s lips. But the rage at seeing the sudden emotion made him escalate things.

              He could only see Mario’s face as he turned him around and pushed the knife into his delicious flesh. A sigh escaped from him, glee enveloping as he saw the look of shock caress Mario’s face.

              The cotton of his clothing was already wet with weeping blood. Mario was looking at him, shock and pain filling his features. Before he could say a word, Oberon put a finger to his lips.

              “You belong with me…my dear.” A smile started to caress his mouth when Mario tried to move, his lips trying to form words.

              “Ang – “

              He saw red.

              Oberon couldn’t control it. He couldn’t control it. The rage and violence surged through him, taking over all else. His grip over Mario’s waist tightened, before he seethed with rage.

              Again and again. Choked noises escaped from Mario’s mouth as the knife continued to descend. Another stab to the abdomen. A stab in the chest. Blood.

              Blood pooling where they stood, Oberon too angry to form words, his face twisted in rage.

              Oberon’s hands were coated in red. The knife was almost too slick to hold, the dark red rivulets pooling onto the ground. Mario’s dark blue clothes were stained with his blood. Wet, and soaking into the fabric, with rips showing where they knife had been.

              A strangled cry almost tore from Mario as he almost stumbled, but Oberon put his hand to his mouth and took his other hand and placed it behind Mario’s back.

              “I’ll kill you if you scream,” he whispered. His breath was hot against the tense form of Mario. Oberon couldn’t chance it though, as he saw Mario’s mouth moving again as blood continued to fall to the ground. Using all his strength, Oberon twisted Mario’s arms.

              Sickening cracks echoed in the garage as Oberon continued to press his palm to Mario’s mouth. A broken scream wanted to tear from his mouth, but Oberon silenced him through putting his mouth to Mario’s. It felt good. So impossibly good, to feel his lips again. Oberon was rough, greedy to feel Mario’s lips after for so long, too far taken in his pleasure that he didn’t realize Mario’s arms were broken.

              “It’s been too long,” Oberon whispered. He pressed his lips against Mario’s again to stop him from screaming, tearing at the fabric of his stained clothing. He tried to pull at his pants.

              But it wasn’t enough. Mario, so weak, tried to push away. Red filled Oberon’s gaze. He didn’t care that his beloved, that his single reason for living in that hell, was losing too much blood. With a silent roar of rage, he plunged the knife into Mario’s neck. It was meant to kill him. Instead, it only caused a deep gash in Mario’s neck. It bled, just like the rest of him.

              “Ang…” Mario hoarsely gasped. His voice was almost inaudible, almost choking as murderous rage bored into Oberon. “Angu –!”

              “SHUT UP!” The man coated with blood punched Mario in the mouth. There was another crack as Mario’s teeth were uprooted from their roots. His mouth gagged as Oberon clutched violently at his head and bellowed for him to swallow.

_“SWALLOW YOU FUCKING DOG!”_

             There was no sound except the choked gasp as Oberon watched as Mario swallowed his own teeth.

              “Good,” he said, Mario’s face was pale, so very pale and his eyes…were afraid. Suddenly, the rage and hope of killing Mario disappeared. Pity remained.

              “I love you,” he whispered. Again, his lips wandered over to Mario’s, and of how blissful it was. Again and again, feeling the blood coat at his feet. He started to feel excited again, remembering the reason why he had come to see his Mario in the first place.

              Oberon shoved his hand in Mario’s mouth to keep him from crying out. “Don’t be scared,” he crooned softly as fingers, hands – Oberon almost wanted to laugh at loud at the pure desperation Mario’s face as his little nails kept scratching back and forth.

              A sharp and choked noise was the only indication of what his partner was feeling as Oberon rubbed himself against Mario. _Too soon,_ the man thought as he felt his cock fill with more blood. _I’m…supposed to…_ “You’re too good to resist, darling,” Oberon whispered as his breathing, heavy and filled with lust, echoed in the empty area. Groaning at the sensation, the lust and violence became too much as Oberon began to press harder and move against Mario. He saw his face. The most beautiful face he had ever seen.

              Oberon couldn’t help himself and gnawed at Mario’s lips as he hastily unzipped his fly, and allowed his cock to truly feel Mario. He didn’t last long. With a cry, he felt his cock shudder in release as it was spilled on Mario’s clothes.

              The semen mixed in with the blood, causing Oberon to almost release again as he saw of the blood leaking onto the ground. Beautiful. He zipped himself up again, staring in awe as Mario suddenly fell onto the ground on his stomach. Blood continued to seep, a choked cry almost escaping from Mario’s lips before his mouth was covered by Oberon’s palm again.

              “Don’t cry.” He smiled, not aware of the look of pure agony and terror on Mario’s face as he lowered his face closer and whispered, wiping away with his fingers the tears that started to leak from Mario’s eyes, “Next time I’ll be gentle.”

              He sent a lingering kiss on Mario’s lips before he walked away.

* * *

 

              Blood continued to leak onto the floor. Mario couldn’t move. His entire body – every cell, seemed to be screaming in pain. It burned, white-hot and sharp, the agony causing him to almost pass out. But he couldn’t pass out.

              He couldn’t think. The pain. So. Much. Pain. The agony trailing around him. The blood continuing to leak from his stab wounds. Screams clogged at his throat, but he found that he couldn’t speak. He couldn’t. There was too much pain. Mario knew, deep ingrained in his mind, that he would die if he stayed here. Patients with wounds like this often died. And Dr. Perello… He couldn’t stop the bleeding. He continued to bleed, the agony almost causing him to pass out.

              _Move._ He couldn’t. His head was too dizzy. Pain clouded his head. _Move!_ All he wanted, was to sleep. His limbs felt so heavy…and what Oberon did to him… A brief memory of calling to someone as he tried to fight echoed in his dying, bleeding mind. _“Ang…”_

_ANGUS!_

His breathing quickened at the thought. _ANGUS!_ How could he have forgotten? Angus…he had been trying to call him. Mario shuddered as he remembered the feel of Oberon’s penis against him, spilling on his blood-soaked scrubs.

              It hurt. Mario almost screamed when he tried to move. His arms…his broken arms screamed as he tried to move them, his surge of agony blacking his mind for a mere moment. _I…_ He had a memory. A dislocated hip. A young man, who dragged himself to alert the cops. _“You were dead.”_ His eyes…started to close. Too much agony ripping through him. _“You were dead, and you still…”_

 _MOVE!_ It was only an inch. Mario almost blacked out by the agony, the blood leaking out. He couldn’t. Again, despite his body screaming for him to stop and die, Mario pushed his broken arms and dragged his body further. _Angus…_ Mario thought. His body was bleeding out. He felt the blood continue to leak, smearing the ground as he continued to push himself forward. _Malaya…_ His breathing faltering as he moved again, choking as blood slipped from his mouth. For some reason, as he neared bleeding out, Mario started to remember. It was a picnic that they had. The residents were there. Christa, with her hand clutching Neal’s, both of their smiles wide enough to crack their faces. Dr. Rorish not saying anything but watching, a small smile on her face as she watched Malaya talk with Jesse at the corner of her eye and Mario wander over to Angus. Mike was beside his younger brother, looking very surprised when Mario came over, away from the small park they were forced to come to by their “mama.” It was so warm then. So unlike the cold that Mario had thought of when in New York. So warm…their smiles like the plastic photos Mario had thought of when he thought with a sneer at family photos. It had been a beautiful day. Not a cloud in the sky. And Rollie, the mentor to both Malaya and Angus, welcoming Mario with a smile.

              _I…just wanted…_ Mario was barely conscious. His eyesight was fading. The resident could only think of how relieved Angus looked…before rehab…before everything had gone to hell. A memory of the conversation they had, a small smile that Angus gave him. _“I’m okay.”_ A lingering glance. A sudden scream came from him, tearing out from his broken lungs as Mario pushed his broken body. _I just WANTED…!_ Tears coated his face. They spilled onto his face, warm and so impossibly salty as Mario opened his mouth to continue to scream. He thought of Charlotte. Elliot. Noa. Of how he would never truly know them. _Goddamn it._ Exhaustion filled him. Why…was he fighting? He was dying. He knew it. So…why?

              Mario didn’t know how, but his hand curled. His fist was covered in his blood. Tears, warm and think, fell on his face as he thought of all the things he wanted to say.

              _Angus…_

At the one thought, adrenaline surged through his limbs.

              “ANGUS!”

              Mario was barely able to stand. Using every strength he had, Mario threw himself against the glass. It shattered, excruciating pain through every cell. Blinding agony shattered as the glass embedded in his already shattered flesh.

              The pain turned the entire world black.


	4. Chapter 3

_Chapter 3  
_

_I hope Mario doesn’t suffer from Campbell._ Neal Hudson thought as he walked towards the glass doors leading to the garage. It was quiet, leaving the surgeon to his thoughts, and thankfully, no Campbell-induced aneurysm. Although he hadn’t been a resident for the past three years, the arrogant surgeon treated him like one. No, the British attending thought as he remembered his first hellish days in the OR. _I get treated like I am worse than scum._ If Campbell treated Neal like shit, then the surgeon would have no issue tearing Mario apart.

              Although, it seemed that Mario could take care of himself. Neal had himself seen of how the resident reacted to authority, capable of being strong enough to stay by his beliefs and feelings without much care to the rules. But even so…Campbell would have no issue humiliating Mario, or any of the residents. Neal didn’t know much, but it seemed that the second-year resident had a rough past. That was why he wasn’t able to connect with others and grow emotionally until the past year. Neal had heard Mario as he shouted at the unknown patient, stunned as he heard the intense anger and disgust tearing from his voice. The resident had only told him that the patient was someone he knew. _“An asshole like I was.”_ There was something in Mario’s voice that caused Neal to look at him in surprise. Mario had never before mentioned of his former behavior when he had first arrived in Angels, and an expression akin to regret framed his features. _“Sometimes I just look at myself, and…”_ His dark eyes wandered, following the area that Christa and the others were having their breakfast.

              It took only a glance to realize that whatever Mario was going to say, he wasn’t going to. Neal had wanted to ask Mario if he was okay; since the day Mike had died, Mario had been taking care of his younger brother. _It’s not good to only take care of one person,_ Neal thought as his thought inevitably wandered over to Christa. A deep ache shuddered inside of him as he remembered of how Mike had called him an idiot for not going after the blond resident and explain his feelings. During the days after Mike’s death, Neal and Christa had taken care of each other. But who was taking care of Mario?

              Neal’s thoughts halted to a violent stop at the sound of a hoarse scream. It burned in his ears, turning his stomach as he heard – through many years of practicing emergency medicine – the desperation that scream. _No,_ the surgeon thought as he started to run. _No. It was a name!_ The sound of his heart obscenely burned in his mind as he heard shattering glass. Neal continued to run. Something forbidden was developing in his stomach, and his shoes screeched against the material of the floor as he gaped at the scene before him.

              “Oh God…” came the whisper. His stunned orbs wandered over the horrific scene. Glass was shattered everywhere. Dark splotches of blood dotted the transparent glass, the shards gleaming with the blood dripping onto the floor. Immediately crouching down beside the patient – if there was a pulse – Neal gently held the prone figure and put him in the recovery position.

              A rough gasp tore violently from his throat as he saw who the patient was. Mario’s pale – too pale, and hematemesis leaking from his mouth – face being the only thing he could focus on.

              For only a moment.

              His heart pounding in his mouth, Neal checked for further injuries. Small particles of glass were embedded in his skin. The dark blue of his scrubs were stained with deep dark red. Neal’s dark eyes widened at the tears of fabric, a cold feeling against his skin as he realized that Mario had been stabbed. Gingerly, Neal’s fingers moved to take Mario’s pulse. There was a gaping wound on his lateral side of his neck. It was deep, and still oozing blood. _Tachycardia,_ Neal thought hurriedly as he recognized the rapid beating of Mario’s heart in an effort to pump the blood through his body. _Blood pressure low, too much blood loss…_ He was still bleeding. _Oh…shit!_

       The sound of tearing of cotton echoed in the barren area as Neal began to press hard on the multiple abdominal wounds that Mario had.

       He hastily dug into his pocket and called Leanne. Neal knew that if he left Mario alone for a moment, it would be likely – no, Mario would die if he left him alone.

       “Leanne, I need a blood gurney here now by the garage!” Neal bellowed.

 

* * *

 

         “Where’s Mario?” Angus asked as he tried to ignore Christa’s pointed look at the plate of full food in front of him.

         “Angus,” the blond second-year stated patiently with only kindness that she could have. “Eat. Think about Mario later.”

         Grudgingly putting a piece of bland toast in his mouth, Angus watched Christa at the corner of his eye. The blond resident was now considered the mother of the original four that had arrived in Angels, and now more than ever she was watching over Angus. _But now that I think about it…_ A sudden ache appeared in his heart at the long months Mario had looked after him. _Mario’s been taking care of me the entire time. Especially today._ Angus should have been humiliated that he wasn’t able to remember how to correct a compromised airway, but Mario had been there with him. A strange feeling had enveloped inside of him when Mario had taken his hand and allowed his hand to remember the muscle memory of saving a life. For some reason, Angus hadn’t truly been able to focus on what Mario was re-teaching him. His focus seemed to be on the fact that Mario’s hand covered his, surprisingly warm and smooth against his own sudden weak hands. Heat rushed to his face at the memory.

         Mario had been touching him a lot lately. Whether it was clasping him on the shoulder or just simple touches – a hand brushing across his own, his thigh gently nudging him when Angus was thinking too much about Mike – Angus had the desire for Mario to hold his hand again. He wondered absent-mindedly if Mario would mind. Although the subject hadn’t come up, the resident had seen the glance Charlotte had given them. What would it be like, to hold his hand? Mario’s hands were smaller, so they could fit in his slightly larger ones. Would it be warm, just like the touch he had given him today?

       “Are you thinking about Mario?” Christa asked suddenly. Angus snapped out of his thoughts, and embarrassment burned his cheeks at the easy smile that she wore. “You’ve been…better around him, Angus.” Christa said this empathically, a knowing look in her eyes when Angus nodded. They both knew grief. A thoughtful look appeared across her face. Christa didn’t have the chance to say whatever she wanted to say, however, as the door to the staff room slammed open.

       “I don’t know why, but all of our pagers went off!” The speaker was Elliot, as he still was prone to panic and not thinking well under stress. Angus and Christa both looked down at their pagers, and immediately stood when they went off.

        “What’s going on?” Christa asked as they and the other first year resident began to run to Center Stage. “They usually don’t call all the residents.”

       “I don’t know,” Noa said with a grim look, “but it seems bad. I can hear the chaos from over here.”

       It was true. Angus’ heart rate increased at the sound of shouting and machines beeping in the ER. He spotted Dr. Rorish barking out orders to Malaya, and Dr. Hudson already starting to put on the familiar yellow safety wear used when treating trauma patients too unstable to move to the OR. Angus’ eyes widened at the sight of blood already pelting onto the floor. Something was wrong. Malaya was struggling to find an airway, and that would _never_ –

        Perhaps the horrid gasp came from him. But for that moment, it seemed that Angus was disconnected from what he was seeing. _No,_ he thought. _This…can’t be._ He blinked, but the image – the mirage, would still stay. At the back of his mind, Angus thought he heard his name. But his stunned gaze would continue to stare at the figure lying on the gurney.

         Mario. His mouth gaped at he saw the amount of blood soaking his scrubs. The dark red liquid pelted onto the ground, creating a small pool where Malaya was still trying to find an airway. Angus’ breathing seemed to stop. There was too much blood. Even for him, with two years of studying emergency medicine with patients dying from blood loss, all Angus could see was red. The bleeding wounds burned in his mind, staring once more at Mario’s face. Still. His eyes closed. Just like –

          “Angus!” Angus’ thoughts were destroyed at the firm call towards him. He could see Dr. Rorish looking at him with her glasses, an agitated stare across her face. “Angus, if you want to save Mario, you need to move!”

           At the sound of the heart monitor beating rapidly, Angus ran towards the gurney as someone hastily helped him put on a yellow safety wear. Dr. Hudson’s hands were coated in blood, trying in vain to stop the bleeding. His hands, Angus’ noted with a hash jolt, were in the middle of Mario’s abdomen.

          “Dammit,” Dr. Rorish cursed. She was looking at the numbers flashing across the screen. Angus felt cold water being poured down his back as he saw Mario’s increasing heart rate and narrowing blood pressure. “A severe hemothorax with multiple stab wounds to the abdomen and chest!” Blood was continued to spill onto the ground.

           “Where the hell is Campbell?!” Dr. Hudson yelled as droplets of blood appeared on his cheek. “Mario’s going into hypovolemic shock!”

           “He’ll be here in five minutes!” Angus’ head snapped to find Heather standing in front of them in her scrubs. Her face dangerously paled at the sight of Mario on the gurney. “Oh my god…” she whispered.

           “Mario doesn’t have five minutes!” Dr. Rorish yelled as her cold eyes bored into Heather’s. “Get Campbell! I don’t care if he’s doing trauma surgery, fucking get him _NOW!”_

              Mario’s vital began to plummet. Heather began to run as fast as she could to the OR as Dr. Rorish began to shout for more suction.       

             “Can’t…get it…” she growled. “Come on, Mario!”

              He flatlined. There was no other word for it. Angus’ breath shuddered to a stop as the sound eerily echoed in his ears, as Dr. Hudson’s and Christa’s and Elliot’s hands were stained up to their elbows in blood. The damn song of death burned Angus’ entire being, and he almost stumbled at the sight of the green line screaming. _No._ Angus thought. _No._ His body seemed to move before his mind. He thought of Mike. _NO!_ Angus began to perform CPR, not noticing of how the voices seemed to vanish around him, and the sounds of crying numb to his ears.

              _No…Mario._ His breathing changed rapidly, becoming desperate gasps as his glassy blue eyes stared at Mario without a pulse, without a breath, with a tube stuck in his throat. _You…can’t…die._

 _You can’t die!_ How many minutes had passed? How many seconds? Angus didn’t know. His entire focus seemed to only be on the dying figure before him. _Not…after…_ He was blinded. Angus thought blood had gotten into his eyes. Suddenly, his mouth was too dry and he couldn’t breathe. _Please…_

_Mario…don’t –_

“How long has he been without a pulse?”

              Angus stared at the imposing figure of Dr. Campbell. The arrogant surgeon seemed almost regretful, staring at Mario as the doctors were desperately working to save his life.

              Christa’s red-rimmed eyes glared at him. “Don’t you _dare_ –”

              “It hasn’t been the first time this has happened, Dr. Lorenson.”

              The words were like a punch in the stomach. All air left Angus’ lungs, and he continued to stare dumbly at what the surgeon was suggesting. Heather herself looked stunned and sickened. Then, rage as he never thought he possessed flowed through him.

              “Mario,” he whispered through gritted teeth. It was hard to speak. His head seemed to be swimming. Angus couldn’t even look at Campbell, fighting the scream wanting to come from him. “Is not _dead_.”

              “Dr. Leighton –” the surgeon intoned.

              “He is not _DEAD!_ ” Angus screamed, his vocal cords cracking as he stared with almost murderous rage pouring out of his tormented depths. He was not aware of the others staring at him in stunned silence as he continued CPR.

              “Please…” Angus whispered. He wasn’t aware of his hands hurting. “Please…” he continued to plead. He didn’t care that everyone could hear him. “Don’t…leave, Mario.” A half-choked sob tore from his throat. Memories haunted him. The very moment Mario held him in his arms as he cried. The moment that Mario had allowed Angus to talk to him on his phone once he got into rehab. His comforting, _healing_ presence. “Please…” Angus rasped. Tears falling from his face. “Don’t leave me alone Don’t go where I…I can’t _go_!”

              Then. The sound of a heartbeat. The monitor, working again. Angus slowly, almost as if it was a dream, looked at the screen. He glanced around him, and saw the others…with very pale faces and their yellow gear coated in blood. But, there was no call. No call, early in the morning. Angus gasped out a breath as he watched Dr. Hudson finding the places of heavy bleeding and…fixing the grievous internal bleeding. No one seemed to comment when Angus’ hands shook when he and Christa removed their friend’s spleen.

              “He’s lost a lot of blood,” Dr. Rorish stated with a slight rasp and her face pale, “and we still have glass embedded in his skin…but he’s alive.”

             

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know when I will update next, as I will be very busy for the next couple of months. I hope these chapters will satisfy you for the next couple of months! Thank you for your patience!


	5. Chapter 4

_Chapter 4  
_

             

They lost Mario again after that.

It had taken great patience and skill to remove every shard of glass that had embedded itself into Mario’s battered body without causing any more trauma. Angus hadn’t been able to focus on anything else as his gloved hands continued to be coated in Mario’s blood. The slivers of glass seemed so small, and yet on a patient – a person who had experienced hemorrhagic shock and a pneumothorax, every cut could –

Angus heaved his breath. His blue eyes slammed shut, and his cold lips pressed together in a vain attempt to remain calm. It was fine, now. Dr. Rorish, with more than twenty years’ experience in the ER, had said Mario was stable. Suddenly the thought became too much. His breathing refused to even out, harsh gaps almost tearing from his throat as an abrupt, pain-filled laughter bubbled in his throat.

 _If that is true,_ Angus thought as his hands reached for his face. His nails almost clawed at his tender skin, his knuckles white as the second-year resident attempted to regain his sanity as he held his face in his hands. Laughter continued to want to leak from his mouth. _Why the_ hell _…is Mario in here, then?_ His uneven breath continued to increase, and pain burned against his abdomen at the memory of seeing Mario still in his own blood. _How…?_ Angus snapped his eyes open, the urge to laugh – hysterically, tragically – died as he heard the sounds again.

They were sounds Angus had experience hearing. He remembered how Malaya had taught him how to find the cords properly, when he had been too low in self-esteem to do it on his own. And with Mike as well. The dull agony continued to pierce through Angus’ bleeding heart, as he remembered the months of watching Mike’s vent breathe for him. The whisper of the _whoosh-whoosh_ was something that Angus never wanted to hear again as a family member. When he saw the glazed eyes and broken expressions of husbands, fathers, daughters, and friends as they watched their significant person lying still on a bed with a vent attached to their mouth, Angus now understood the living nightmare they were going through. At first when he heard the beep of the heart monitors as a student, Angus thought they were a comfort to him. Instead of hearing his father’s ridicule and Mike’s disappointment, there was only the sound of the heart monitor making it sound.

It blocked out the “bad thoughts,” coined by his childhood therapist, in his mind.

 _No_ , he thought suddenly. He remembered vividly of what Dr. Rorish had called it. _“A living mine-field.”_ She had chewed him out before Mike had died, telling him words no one had the balls to tell him. Back then, the senior attending had told him that Mike’s case was like walking through a living mine-field. Now, Angus wondered why Mario hadn’t told him that before. When they had first met, Mario hadn’t minded acting like an ass around him. So why didn’t he tell him that he was behaving like a self-indulgent asshole?

People used to say, in hushed whispers, that Dr. Leighton was the sweet one and Dr. Savetti was the asshole. _They couldn’t be farther from the truth,_ Angus thought with his lips trembling.

For some reason, it felt like a living mine-field now. He didn’t know why. It felt as if his breath was being taken from every mitochondria, and his body singing with agony. With Mike, there was deep fear and numbness that continued to plague him. He couldn’t sleep, obsessing over Mike’s vitals and every sign of life. And when Mike died…grief remained.

But it was as if Angus _was_ a living mine-field. Every second, his body could collapse or explode. With agony or despair, he didn’t know.

The sound of the ventilator echoed through Angus’ mind as a sharp sting burned in his eyes. His fingers brushed away the coming moisture, anger filling his veins as his tormented blue orbs stared dully at Mario lying in one of the beds in the intensive care.

A shuddering breath escaped from the second-year resident as he saw the multiple tubes attached to Mario. Not only was he attached to a vent, but also a chest tube that would continue to drain the blood that had collected in Mario’s lungs. A long pole with a blood bag was attached to an IV for a transfusion. Angus forgot how many Mario would have to have in order to have enough blood to be considered healthy. _He may never wake up._ That was the ultimate danger of vents. Once a person was attached to a vent, they may never wake up. In the haze of shock during…the procedure, Angus forgot why. He could only remember the panic as Dr. Rorish tried to detach the vent from Mario after his wounds had been closed by stiches and gauze, when his friend’s stats started to drop. _“He’s going into respiratory failure! Dr. Lorenson, reattach the vent!”_ Mario couldn’t breathe on his own. Angus tried to still his breath at the image of despair that briefly – so briefly that Angus thought he had imagined it – across Malaya’s face. Mario had lost too much blood from the wounds he received – both internally and externally.

It was worse. It was so much worse that Angus would admit to himself. Mario hadn’t immediately been called like Dr. Parello, but it had been close. Mario’s lung had collapsed, three of his ribs broken, with extensive internal and external bleeding. If that was all that happened, it would have been traumatic enough. But Dr. Hudson had noticed something. His face had paled even as he calmly told the others to look at Mario’s hands. Angus had wanted to throw up, and he heard the gaps around him to know that he wasn’t the only one who felt horror.

Mario’s hands were heavily bruised. Dots of dried blood scattered around his hands, and cuts with swollen purple skin came from both of Mario’s hands to his wrists. It was such a horrifying picture that Angus thought before he could stop and think –

_Sexual –_

Angus was gripping his hands so hard he could feel half-moons digging into his palms. Dr. Rorish said they had to make sure. It was…required. And…Mario’s hands looked like a textbook case for self-defensive wounds. _How…?_ Angus had wondered, feeling so numb he could barely feel anyone beside him. He could see Christa holding Mario’s left hand as she looked towards Dr. Rorish and Dr. Hudson, who seemed to be communicating without words. What were the others doing? What were they feeling? The second-year resident didn’t know. By the time he was aware of anything, Dr. Hudson was barking to Campbell to page radiology. It almost seemed like a distant dream now as Angus stared at his unconscious friend, his blood-soaked scrubs stripped away and wearing a hospital gown that seemed too big for him. The bed itself, seemed too big for him.

The room was a large one. It was big enough to house more than a few people. The walls were white and a small window graced the room. Only a few of their patients had to be taken to the ICU. Angus hadn’t really been there, not even after Malaya had been attacked. He only heard the message from Jesse that Gordon had died. Mario had yet to be assigned a doctor. Capable as the ER doctors were, the ICU doctors…were completely different. The nurses had allowed Angus to stay, and he hadn’t managed to find his voice to say thank you. The rest of the ER doctors were waiting six floors downstairs. Waiting to hear if Mario…had died. They had told him that he should go with Mario to the ICU; Dr. Rorish was already informing them of their new…patient, and only one doctor was needed to transport Mario to the ICU.

Angus never thought that Mario would look so small.

He didn’t look like a child. His face was too pale and his body gone through too much trauma for that. But… The light-brown haired resident took a sharp breath as he remembered Mario’s flatline hours before. Of how even moving him to the radiology department for x-rays was too much for his body, and he crashed again.  

Every shard of glass had been removed from his skin, a vent attached to the person Angus couldn’t lose – not now, not after Mike – and fighting for his life.

Two broken arms. During the assault, Mario had his two arms broken.

His scrubs were going to be analyzed for DNA analysis.

The thought itself made Angus so sick he felt vertigo. _Dear God…_ And so, shakily, Angus sat on the cold and hard chair the intensive care had provided him. Even as his mind inwardly shrank from thinking of anything, Angus tried to breathe as he tried to understand what had happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this chapter seemed confusing. I just started writing this story again after not even glancing at it for over two months. I hope to have a shorter hiatus next time! Please review, as I would love to improve my writing.


End file.
